Title: Help Me
Rated: Pg-13...for disturbing themes/images.
Pairing: None...Just House & Wilson friendship
Disclaimer: IF I OWNED IT...I WOULDN'T BE HERE WRITING FAN FICTION... NOW WOULD I?
AN: Spoilers for s4 BETAED...ALL MISTAKES ARE MY OWN... THIS IS A ONE-SHOT
Bold italics are thoughts...regular italics are speaking lines...sorry for the formatting,
PS: I couldn't figure out how to get rid of the double spacing the site did to the document.
The blood bubbled and poured out from the gash from his throat...dribbling down the length of his body to puddle on the ground.
In the depths of his bright blue eyes Wilson stared.
Help Me. They screamed.
Wilson awoke with a gasp, to find himself alone in his bed.
He sat up slowly, gulping to prevent the urge to vomit.
It was like this every night ever since Amber had died 3 months ago.
Wilson kept having disturbing dreams, dreams that felt so real, dreams that haunted his mind every second of the day. To the point that he feared to fall asleep.
In every dream he and House would become best friends again, and in every dream...
Always in a different way.
Some deaths calm almost comforting, others, like the one he just had, completely horrific.
He found it strange that he dreamed of his death rather than Ambers...after all he hadn't even spoken to the man since that fateful day. Though his anger toward House for amber's death has dissipated...he couldn't bring himself to talk to him.
He has seen him briefly around the hospital, always walking alone. And every time he had seen his sad face, images from his dreams flashed into his eyes a gun, a knife, crushing blows, screams, and blood...blood...soooo much blood.And Wilson would cower into himself, and walk away without even a 'hello'. Too afraid that even a simple greeting would set off the deadly reaction, that the dreams had convinced him would happen.
Even though House isn't very popular with the hospital staff many were angered that Wilson wouldn't even talk to House.
Some had spoken to Wilson about it.
Some shook their heads in distain.
Cuddy had practically begged him, as did House's team, both new and old.
But Wilson always declined...never actually giving a reason to them. If he told them why...they'd think he was crazy.
Wilson had promised himself...as soon as those dreams stopped that they would finally talk again, and everything would be resolved.
Looking at the clock next to his bed, 6:30 am, Wilson sighed and decided to get up and get ready for his day.
His professional and squeaky-clean reflection stared back at him in the mirror as he looked at himself.
Only his tired eyes gave any implication that not all was right.
After brushing his teeth, and grabbing his keys, he took a deep breath, and walked out his door.
His day was progressing rather normally, and strangely the nagging the dreams usually did in his mind had lessened a bit, so that life seemed fairly calm.
So when he saw House limping toward the cafeteria, and House gave him a slightly nervous smile, he returned the smile.
His heart swelled at the slight twinkle that was produced in House's eyes.
A weight seemed to lift off his shoulders and walked around with a little more confidence than he had in a while.
Feeling that one gesture, and not pushing it, might turn everything around, that it was safe enough that nothing could go wrong as a direct result of it.
That night he dreamed of Monster Truck shows, Friday nights spent listening to House's rants about life, of weekends spent on leather couches devouring pizza and enjoying old black and white movies, laughing, just being happy.
Just being friends again.
Death didn't follow the happiness.
He awoke the next morning feeling happy and refreshed.
He could felt that it was safe to speak to House again.
He arrived to work with a spring in his step, a smile gracing his face.
It was still early, only a few more hours and House would be in.
And he would make his peace.
He desperate wanted to talk to Cuddy and let her know his plans on reconciliation.
He walked up to an empty office.
Hmmm she's not here...odd.
Yet nothing to worry about.
But then his cell phone rang.
"James? I'm been trying to reach you for hours. It's Cuddy..."
Something in her tone sounded off.
"Cuddy...? What's wrong...?"
"Oh God James...he's gone."
"What...what are you talking about Lisa?"
His stomach dropped.
"I'm at the coroners office...they...wanted me to identify a body...his body. Oh God James...he's...really gone...he..." Gasping sobs muffled the rest of her sentence.
He dropped to his knees in the middle of the main hallway not caring if anyone would see.
"Lisa, what...what you talking about? What happened Lisa? What do you mean House is gone?"
What the hell is she talking about? I...I just saw him yesterday.
"An...accident...on a bridge...his motorcycle was pushed off the railing...he drowned."
No...he couldn't of drowned.
Didn't he tell me he was a diver in high school?
He couldn't of drowned...
Maybe he couldn't get above the surface because of his leg.
Tears streamed down his face.
He didn't realize she was still speaking.
"...Found his work identification badge in his wallet...and they called me. I tried calling your cell phone...no answer. I called your apartment and it was a wrong number."
Cuddy doesn't know about the hotel he's been calling home since she died.
"No Lisa...I just saw him...he's not...he... couldn't be..."
"You should come down here...even if you aren't...weren't..."
Why didn't I speak to him sooner?
"...You were...his best friend after all."
He couldn't recall the drive there but looking at the still body on the metal table Wilson never felt so cold.
The dead dull hue that marred House's once tan skin, made Wilson's crawl.
Cerulean eyes that were once so full of expression were closed...hiding under thin eyelids. Dark circles lay underneath.
Blue veins stood out prominently against the ashen features.
The lips that had once produced both vile comments and complex jokes remained still.
Not a word uttered through them.
It wasn't right.
It wasn't fair.
This is NOT the man Wilson knew.
But he still stared at him...willing him to take a breath, stare at him with sparklingly mischievous eyes, and chirp out a 'hey Jimmy, lets go get some lunch...you're paying.'
The longer he started...the more still House seemed to become.
"Please... House... Please wake up."
All the while Cuddy stood outside the door.
Finally he couldn't stand there any longer...and rushed out the door nearly knocking Cuddy to the ground.
He ran down the hallways and out the doors to his car, and sped away to House's apartment.
He rushed up the steps, and whipped out House's apartment key.
He never could bring himself to give it back to him.
He barges into the apartment frantically begging House to "stop hiding" and "answer him for Christ sakes!"
No one answered.
His cell phone ringing loudly...he threw it across the apartment.
He desperately searched every room, stopping in the bedroom.
In all the years he had been House's friend he had only ever been in House's bedroom a handful of times.
Usually to just wake him up for work when he slept on the couch the night before.
He looked around a minute until his eyes stopped above the dresser was a mirror in a frame.
Tucked into the bottom right hand corner was a snapshot of the both of them smiling at a golf tournament many years before.
Wilson picked up the photograph, and stared into the eyes of the taller figure that beamed back at him.
Cerulean eyes, printed on textured paper.
He crouched into a corner, clutched the picture to his chest, and sobbed.
All the while desperately praying, that this would be just anther horrible dream.
A tiny voice echoed all around him.